Servitude
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Written for the Baxley prompt: their first touch.
1. Chapter 1

**This was a prompt from earlier in the week, which got a bit lost in the midst of nightclub!AU. The first time Baxley touch (and a bit more, because I can't help myself). **

The first time they touch each other he knows for certain that something about Miss Baxter, something about Miss Baxter and him, together, is different. By accident, their hands brush as he passes her the paper, trying to make sure the pages do not fall apart before she takes it. It is no accident at all, he is sure, the way their hands linger together, for a second longer, again he is convinced, than it took her to make sure the pages were in order. She was to the touch exactly as she looked; soft, friendly, gentle. Vaguely sensuous in a way he found hard to pin down. He say a flush grace the precise line of her cheekbone as she half turned back into her chair, pulling the pages into her lap.

The effect of the briefest of her touches on him is all the proof he needed. He had already suspected himself of it; part of him already knew, very well, what he was beginning to feel for Phyllis Baxter. To touch her only made to confirm it, even before she rose from her chair to attend to her Ladyship and as he saw her shadow passing, he found himself aching for her touch again.

But it was not long in the waiting.

When she accepts his hand- no, asks for, without words- to help her into the back of Mr Mason's cart he decides that there really is a god. Even through her gloves. And he looks up to see her face, feels her fingers gently squeeze against his palm. Lets out a low shudder of breath.

The powerful feeling of need he has to help her, to care for her, to-…. touch her makes his throat constrict whenever he thinks about it.

For someone who has spent his life in service, and he knows this himself, he takes surprisingly badly to the idea of servitude, in almost all cases, except in hers. He was mended the road, and balked against it; he has resented the demotion from valet to footman for all it was worth. Something about her, the way she is with him, makes these considerations fade into utter irrelevance. He doesn't care; she can use him as much as he likes, because he knows she wouldn't, and he knows he loves her, above all else.

He had never before understood the idea of being willing to do anything for somebody. It never appealed. But it is her he considers first, her whose opinion he seeks, whose needs and wishes he tries to gage. It just so happens, the realisation strikes him in a moment as he holds her hand, clasped between their bodies, looking into her eyes, that her needs and wishes are going to lead them both into bliss.

It's surprisingly uncomplicated to slip into her room at night. It's a bit of a risk of course, and it's not worth thinking about what would happen if Mr Carson were to catch them, but he is devoted to his cause now, and this is the cause that makes her happy.

He has never felt less perturbed by complete and utter servitude than when he is lying between her thighs, his mouth exploring her sensitive flesh, and she shakes in pleasure at the way he touches her. He's never done this before; never felt the intensity of the pleasure that can be got from giving pleasure to another, whom you love-…

He worries that they'll give themselves away. She understands his concern, and understands that he feels the need to appear perhaps a touch more restrained around one another than they were before. But his desire does not abate for this; he still finds he wants to be able be able to care for her, tenderly, whenever they are together.

They have to wait until the servants hall is empty before he raises his hand carefully to the line of her cheek, so as not to startle her, and he can tuck the loose strand of hair carefully back behind her ear before she goes to see to her Ladyship. He sees her smiling as she goes.

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I was asked to do another chapter, and got two very good prompt for it, so I've tried to put the two together. Hope you like it. **

She is entirely unused to the idea of anyone serving her. The roles have always always been the other way around, she finds it difficult, even, to ask for help, never mind anything more. Things have always been asked of her, and she assumed that it would remain as such, indefinitely. But she had had many assumptions, many expectations-… Well, if they could even be called expectations. Expectation of what would most certainly never happen. That she would get married, that had never seriously crossed her mind. That she would find someone she wanted to marry, and simultaneously trusted enough to go through with it. That anyone would ever touch her the way that Joseph Molesley did-…

She never expected to be Mrs. anything, but, knowning that she would, she would have hazarded a guess at Mrs. Molesley. Early on, she could imagine loving him. With time, she imagined a lot more than that. She allowed herself to hope for a lot more, but never this, never quite-… like _this_.

Truth be told, when she told him about what she'd done in the past- where she'd been, and why- she expected him to be scared away; to try to understand and not be able to. And she wouldn't have blamed him for a moment. It did not balance out; he who had been treated so carelessly by people in the past, and she who had acted so much without care; why should he even try to understand her? She still doesn't know.

But what she does know, beyond a doubt, that somehow he has managed to make it balance out, in a way that she can't, and now won't even try to question. He has balanced it out, and now he loves her. He is not a transparent person, any more than she likes to flatter herself, and she can tell, he _adores _her.

There is something intensely unaffected about her husband. Just to think of him as her husband brings a smile to her face, as they walk up the path towards their new home. She has the key in her pocket and he steps aside to let her unlock the door.

He doesn't lift her over the threshold, and that is the very last thing she requires him to do, given that his hands are trembling. She cannot ask him to bow before her and lift her at the same time.

She takes his hand, leads him into the cottage, steadies him.

"It's only me," she whispers.

Retrospectively, she wonders if this really helps him at all. Why should the fact that he is here for her alone, when her good opinion has come to be the entire standard of his worth, ease him at all?

So she tries easing him with gentle kisses, touches of their lips against one another. She feels him relax a little against her, and smiles against his mouth.

"Why are you worried?" she asks him, because she is genuinely curious, "It's not exactly as if we're new to this."

"I want it to be right," he answers between kisses, "I want it to be special."

"It is right, it is special," she insists, as she pushes his suit off his shoulders, "It is every time we're together. Everything you do for me," she punctuates her words with kiss on his jaw and neck, "Is special. And I love you."

She feels his arms tighten around her, and gives him one more pleased kiss.

"Come on, Mrs Molesley," he tells her quietly, "We finally have a bed that's meant to sleep two."

She laughs, resting her hand on his chest.

"Thank the lord for that!"

**Please review if you have the time.**


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